


White Night

by Pigeon



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon/pseuds/Pigeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It isn't the scary movies.  Not really.  They are just the last thing, the </i>latest<i> thing</i>...<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	White Night

**Author's Note:**

> Writen for dearest [](http://ysbail.livejournal.com/profile)[**ysbail**](http://ysbail.livejournal.com/) \- Jensen watching too many horror movies and Jeff providing a good distraction.

  


  
It isn't the scary movies. Not really. They are just the last thing, the _latest_ thing, to set off another round of insomnia interrupted by bad dreams.

Nightmares is such a goddamn _pussy_ word.

Little kids get nightmares.

Little kids who have to check under the bed before going to sleep get nightmares.

Jensen gets _bad dreams_ and screw anyone who says otherwise.

At least that's what Jen had said last time Jeff had asked. A full year ago when they were in the midst of their no-name, almost, nothing-y little something. That wordless thing that had them licking the taste of fine scotch out of each other's mouths, hands sliding slick on sweaty skin, and never once managing to stay together long enough to share breakfast in the morning.

But having heard Jensen gasp for breath, and seen him shake and thrash and fucking _tremble_ in his sleep, Jeff knows that regardless of what Jensen says, nightmares is definitely the word for it.

They're sharing a suite, separate rooms, with communal living space, being good little actors and saving the studio money as they film on location by not insisting on their own private apartments. No matter the awkwardness caused when Jensen stumbles around in just his boxers searching for coffee first thing in the morning. Or when Jeff tries to find wherever the hell he left his phone in the main room, wrapped in a towel two sizes too small, and dripping wet from his shower.

And as they sidle past each other, smiling but avoiding all but the briefest of touches, Jeff notices the early signs – skin paler, freckles shocking and dark, eyes rimmed red.

He watches and listens then. Casually asks Jen what he's been up to, filing away the horror movie marathon with Jared alongside the throwaway comments about work stress, family stress, his father's heart condition, the crying scene he has to shoot next week, his sister's new older boyfriend, the last call from his agent, the pastor his mother wants him to visit next time he's in Texas.

He watches the tremble in Jen's hands worsen as he reaches for the coffee pot, and how he moves his food around on his plate but doesn't manage more than a few bites.

It's late on the third night when Jeff wakes to a noise he can't place and lies there for a handful of minutes, blinking up into the darkness and trying to remember where he is. From the main room comes a low humming sound, the TV turned down low, infomercials for country music CDs and stain removers.

It only takes a little bit of energy to roll over and clamber to his feet, hitching up sweat pants that are a little loose and keep trying to slide down past his hips.

Jensen is sitting bolt upright on the couch in front of the widescreen TV, hand clutched about a tumbler of whiskey, bottle sitting half empty on the coffee table.

"Hey."

Jen takes a slow sip of his drink, tongue wetting his lips before replying with his own " _Hey_ ".

Jeff knows Jen has a pile of little bottles stashed away in his room, sleeping pills and anti-depressants, mood stabilizers and psychostimulants. Knows he hates taking them, will self-medicate on booze every time, happier with a hangover than the dull drawn out feeling the drugs leave.

Jeff settles his hand on Jensen's head, scritches his nails gently across his scalp. "Come on," he curves his hand around the ball of Jen's shoulder, urging him up onto his feet, away from where Kenny Rogers is describing the bargain of the Legends of Country compilation, and into his room.

"Lie down." He shoves Jen gently towards the bed, ignoring the red rimmed and baleful look he gets.

"'S stupid," Jen's slurring, more thin stretched exhaustion than alcohol. "Jared and his fuckin' slasher films. Fuckin' overactive imag'ation. That's all."

"Yeah," Jeff agrees quietly, kneeling up on the bed beside Jensen's thigh. Jen's only wearing boxers, and he can see goosebumps prickling the skin at the base of his spine. He settles his hands, warm and heavy on Jensen's shoulder blades at first, lets him get used to the feel of them, the press of them. Then it's small motions, his thumbs digging in either side of his backbone, and rolling the heel of his hands over muscle and sinew.

"You don't need to," Jensen protests, but his voice is low and flattening out on a moan, just a little bit of tension smoothing away.

"I know." Jeff carefully swings himself over so he's straddling Jensen, weight balanced lightly over thighs and ass. His hands skim down a little, finding the lines and planes of Jensen's back, pressing hard and smooth and even. His hands circle and knead, up along the length of Jen's spine, then over the span of his shoulder blades and down the smooth contours of his flanks.

When he digs his fingers in firm around the base of Jen's neck he is rewarded with an unguarded groan.

As he pushes his thumbs in at the small of Jen's back, right where the base of his spine becomes tailbone he gets a shudder and a flex of the hips beneath him. "Good?"

"Mmm, yeah," still slurred, easy drawling vowels and dropped consonants.

Jeff smiles, fingers flexing over skin that is pale and freckled and still tense but easing slightly. He works at knots, digging at them until they give and loosen, and Jensen slowly becomes warm and soft and lax beneath his hands.

Finally, hands still sweeping up and down the length of his back, Jeff slides off to the side, fitting himself to Jen's body and kissing the back his neck softly. "Gonna sleep now?"

Jensen murmurs something unintelligible and shifts back closer. It would be easy for Jeff to take this further now, to lay more kisses down on Jen's neck and shoulders, to slide his boxers down, fit himself into the welcoming curve of his body, but he can already hear Jensen's breath evening out and growing deeper and instead wraps a careful hand around the narrowness of his waist and lets himself drift off to sleep.

  


  
.


End file.
